


Butterfly wishes

by onewingedbutterfly



Series: Kommandant [2]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Reunions, Sign Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 10:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onewingedbutterfly/pseuds/onewingedbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn't *need* Charles -- or so he said...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Year 1963

**Author's Note:**

> (I apologise -- the Erik/Charles is heavily implied, but it isn't the main focus... in fact, neither Erik nor Charles are the focus of this story; this is just a backdrop to Part 3 of **Kommandant** )
> 
> (I'd understand if no one comments or leaves a kudos, because this was just an excuse to write -- the story pertains to my own character, Evangeline, being reunited with her sisters -- Erik is there to find them, and Charles is there to bring them together)
> 
> (if you stay, then the main story with Erik and Charles are in the next part; thank you)

_He needed to get away from it all; he needed something pure to hold in his hands—he needed Charles…_

_But Charles was otherwise indisposed, and he knew of no one else; no one, that is, until he heard a street performer play Bach on violin—and thought of her…_

~*~ 

_It had been easy, falling into bed with her; she hadn’t been surprised to see him, less surprised to have him upon her lips… The only thing that surprised her was his reluctance to see her face as he entered her, pounded into her, came above her; but she endured it admirably – all three times and once more in the morning…_

_In the weeks after, he came to her like clockwork – at first to talk, then to f*ck, and afterwards to apologize and repeat the pattern all over again…_

_She didn’t mind; she never did…_

~*~ 

He shook her awake one night; she wasn’t even aware he was in her room. She groped for her lamp, [Erik?] 

“Teach me how to sign,” he murmured, eyes unseeing. 

There were mud-stains on his cape – he’d been to Westchester then, to see Charles. And they’d had an argument. 

Still—usually, he would slip himself into bed, behind and beside her, like a child begging for comfort. 

His request was rather… unusual… 

She sighed, bundling the hair from her face as she sat up, propped against her pillow. She motioned to him, [Start simple.] A hand to herself, [My.] 

Twin fingers pressed together, crossed perpendicular to one another, one atop the other, [Name.] 

The small finger of her right hand isolated, touching her lower lip; a straight gesture outwards, [Is.] 

Curling her hand into a tight curl, thumb crooked – signaling an ‘E’… Then an obvious sign for ‘V’… The ‘E’ was held to her left shoulder, then the ‘V’ fluttered like wings, [Evangeline.] 

He mimicked her gestures, putting them together twice through. 

“What’s Erik?” 

She shrugged gently, mouthing, [You decide. It’s _your_ name.] 

He held her hand, “Sign when you speak – I’d learn what I can…” 

She smiled tiredly, curling her free hand as if she was revving a motorcycle, [Alright.] 

She stayed up half the night helping him with the alphabet – a fist with its thumb outside, [A.] a halting gesture with its thumb pressed close, [B.] a classic curve, [C.]… He decided to pair an ‘E’ at his left should with a ‘K’ sweeping down to his right hip for his name, [Erik.] She nodded with approval, yawning into the pillow on her lap, [You learn fast. Good.] 

He made up another sign – a ‘C’ to his temple, tapping it twice, “Charles.” 

She snorted elegantly, too tired to argue, [Of course. As you say.] 

He kissed her forehead as she slipped into much wanted sleep, “Love you…” 

She held up a hand – its thumb, index and smallest fingers extended, [Love you, Erik…] 

~*~ 

She was drunk on wine, grinning softly towards her goldfish. He thought she looked ethereal… 

Then again, perhaps he was drunk on wine, too… 

Only he has never been drunk. On wine, nonetheless. 

“You speak French,” he chuckled, braiding her hair; she hiccupped, [French. Italian. English.] then eyes upturned to him, bright with intoxication, [You speak French, too.] 

“French, Italian, Spanish, Russian, English,” he replied, stroking the tilt of her face. He left the fact that they both learnt German through their captors unsaid. “Do you sign in French, too?” 

She made a fist and tapped it forward, [Yes.] then mouthed, [And in French.] and repeated the gesture. 

He chuckled, “So… Sign is international?” 

She giggled, shaking her head, [Not all.] She mimed the first words she taught him, [English. My name is Evangeline.] then a whole spectrum of new moves, with only one common motion, [French. _Mon nom est Evangeline._ ] then another set, [Italian. _Il mio nome e Evangeline._ ] 

He kissed her hands, stilling her, “ _Jestem Erik. Zaszczyt, Evangeline…_ ” 

_::I am Erik. An honour, Evangeline…::_

She licked her lips, [Language?] 

“Polish. _Polski_.” 

It was the language of his birth; the language of his homeland. She stretched up to kiss him; he did not refuse, [Again. Say it again.] 

“ _Evangeline…_ ” he acknowledged, “ _Piekny Evangeline…_ ” 

_::Beautiful Evangeline…::_

She dragged her teeth upon his lower lip, [I like your Polish.] 

He smirked, “I like your French.” 

[ _Embrasse-moi_ …] 

And so he did… 

~*~ 

When they spoke / signed, they spoke / signed in English. 

But in bed, with no one to hear them, he’d speak to her in his native tongue, words curling against her breast; and when she answers, she’d gesture in French, elaborate and distinctive… 

He wondered if there were any Jewish signs.


	2. Year 1964

_He told himself he needed her…_

_“… nothing else, no one else – only you and me…”_

_It was a lie that cost them both._

~*~ 

She rolled out of the bed with little more than a hiss; he blinked, slightly stupefied… 

It took him a minute to knock on the bathroom door, where she’d disappeared to, “… are you alright?” 

She glared viciously at him, but there were tears in her eyes. Rather, there were dark circles under them that he hadn’t noticed before. He wondered, but she spoke instead, 

[I feel like your mistress, Erik,] she mouthed tiredly, [and Charles is your wife.] 

Her words knifed him, for he knew where they stemmed from. He knelt by her side, “You are no one’s mistress,” then an afterthought, “… and Charles is not my wife…” 

She laughed, but it was of bitterness, not mirth, [You say this, but it isn’t true.] She poked him between his eyes, upon his frowning forehead, [Everything you say, everything you do, is about Charles. Charles this, Charles that; what will Charles say? What would Charles do? How would Charles react? I wish Charles would come. I love him. I hate him. Charles, Charles, *Charles*…] 

The last was said with a sob; he avoided her reproach, bitterly turning himself away. 

_He remembered their first bedside conversation, of her teasing, [You come here, to replace Charles with me, or me with Charles?] He remembered nuzzling her neck, “I come here for you…”_

_But in the morning, he confessed over her sleeping form, “I come here because only you understand…”_

She spoke again, eyes sad, [Go home, Erik; go back to Charles…] 

And it pained him that she saw through his everything, “Eva…” 

She sighed, gathering his things and bundling it into his arms; she pushed him out of her room, [This is my role in life, Erik. At least I know what to do…] 

—and shut her door to him for the first and last time of their shared life. 

~*~ 

_He thought of how they met during the war—of how she was used (and *abused*) during the war. Kommandant Markus, Kommandant Hans, Kommandant Oskar, Luka, Mikael, Schmidt; an endless list – she was everyone’s mistress, everyone’s whore…_

_He promised himself never to become them – he promised himself he would care for her, protect her, perhaps even love her… But he had made her his mistress, had made her his whore; he came to her bed and lay with her and left her in the morning – like every other man in her life…_

~*~ 

_A Monster…_

_He believes himself a Monster…_

_He never looks at her because he’s too busy imagining Charles in her place – splayed out before him, pale as moonlight, a constellation of freckles on the left shoulder and back… He doesn’t want to see her face as he comes because he doesn’t want to see Charles – eyes half-lidded, cherry lips half-opened, biting back a half-scream, half-moan…_

_He doesn’t touch her anywhere else because he doesn’t want the illusion to shatter – not her breasts because Charles doesn’t have breasts… not her hips because Charles’ hips don’t flare… He wills himself to take her hands—anchors them, really, so that she can’t touch him; grips her wrists hard enough to leave bruises, watches as she fists and claws helplessly at her sheets…_

_He believes himself a Monster – but even he doesn’t dare say it aloud…_

~*~ 

[Charles came to offer me a place at his school,] she signed nonchalantly, ten weeks later when he stormed into her tiny apartment to demand the reason for her packing her things, as if preparing to leave forever… 

_Leave *you* forever_ , his mind whispered mockingly, followed by _HIS_ voice, _they always leave you, poor Little Erik…_

_Calm yourself_ , the other side of him hushed, its accent foolishly familiar, _Calm your mind…_

He chased the voice away with his anger, the cutlery on her table clinking gently with his gift, “Only * _Charles_ * would be so cruel, acting like a man slighted—” 

[—ENOUGH!!] she lashed out at him, forcing him into a chair; belatedly he realized that it should have been a feat to her, nearly a foot shorter and only half his weight. She motioned to stab him with a butter-knife, spearing the table instead, [If and when I decide to take Charles’ offer, it will have nothing to do with you – he isn’t doing this to spite you, Erik…!!] 

“Of course he is!!” he all but snarled, “He’ll promise you a future I can never own – a hefty paycheck in a cushy mansion without a care—” 

[Is that how you think it is, to be rich?] she screamed in silence, banging her table in frustration, [All lace and doilies and happy laughter? I *knew* that life, Erik – I was the French Ambassador’s daughter, after all…!!] 

He thought back to the first time Kommandant Markus introduced her to Kommandant Hans; the stigma of a life ruined… 

[I’ve been there, Erik – the prestigious schools, the private tutors, the countless nannies…!!] she ranted, and suddenly, he wasn’t sure where Charles began and Evangeline ended, because they blurred into each other’s image, [The want for parents to love you, the loneliness without friends… I was richer having met you, than all my eleven years without – has it ever occurred to you that Charles is richer, too, having found you, than all his trust-funds combined?] 

She leaned into his space, eyes dangerously wild, [Perhaps you *want* him to be cruel, to justify your hatred; you *want* him to blame you, so that you can blame yourself – for taking away his everything: his sister, his friend, his legs, his *heart*…!!] 

She was angry… she was angry but she was tired and she wanted so much for him to *see*; and he hated her for it—even as he knew she was right… 

“Azazel!!” 

An explosion of sulphur, “… _da_?” 

“Anywhere but here,” he commanded, extending his arm; to her, his back turned, he said his final piece, “Goodbye, Evangeline – for your sake, I pray we never meet again…” 

~*~ 

_He told himself he never needed her…_

_“… nothing else, no one else – never, never again…”_

_It was a lie that cost them both._


	3. Year 1965

He was making inquiries in Bordeaux when he saw two girls, dressed as nuns, wearing the same face… He thought it a mutation—perhaps a doppelganger—only to realize they were twins… He snorted, more to himself than to his present companion (the impeccably dressed Janos / Riptide); he watched them as they helped an old crone across the street and gave him a token from the church… 

There was something achingly familiar in the way they waved their hands in benediction… 

He grunted for Janos to continue on his own, curiosity leading him to stray; at the crunch of his boots, they turned to him to smile – their eyes were strikingly green… 

“ _Bonjour. Vous êtes perdu? Peut-être nous pouvons vous aider…_ ” 

_::Hello. Are you lost? Perhaps we may help…::_

He hesitated before he answered them, “ _Excusez-moi, mais… avez-vous une sœur?_ ” 

_::Excuse me, but… do you have a sister?::_

They beamed sunnily at him, “ _Nous sommes tous des sœurs – dans le Christ, oui?_ ” 

_::We are all sisters – in Christ, yes?::_

He retreated, “ _Je m'excuse, je dois me tromper…_ ” 

_::So sorry, I must be mistaken…::_

They bowed to him as one, “ _Pas du tout, monsieur; au’revoir…_ ” 

_::Not at all, sir; goodbye…::_

~*~ 

_He asked her once, a (very) long time ago._

_“Tell me about your family…”_

_She was exhausted from her day, ever more so from his visit; but she did not wave him away –instead, she buried her face into his side, her hand gesturing to him, [Two brothers. Jean-Pierre, Raoul. Two sisters. Arianne, Danielle. I was the middle-child.]_

_“Do you know where they are?”_

_She flexed dismissively – to his chest, she huffed in exasperation. [France? We separated. Brothers in the army. Sisters…] and there she stopped, stilling and dropping her hand._

_[I’m tired, Erik.]_

_“I’m sorry…” he murmured, catching her hand and kissing her hair, “Sleep, ukochany…”_

_He wondered if she ever thought about the family she left behind…_

_He wondered if her sisters ever thought about her…_

_He wondered if either of them cared…_

~*~ 

He knew the address by heart; to his credit, he disclosed nothing to the teleporter, and with his helmet ever-present, gave no secrets to his resident telepath. He mailed the letter and was done with it… 

~*~ 

Charles was never the religious sort; ever the scientist, he leaned more towards atheism than anything else… Still, one could appreciate the gothic-inspired architecture of their historical chapel— 

“ _Bonjour. Pouvons-nous vous aider?_ ” 

_::Hello. May we help you?::_

He had struggled with the syllabi, his French-English phrasebook forgotten on the plane; he smiled sheepishly and asked, tone slightly flustered, “Do you speak English?” 

The plain-faced sister gestured for him to wait, hailing towards a younger nun. They exchanged several words, wherein the last referred to him. 

“My English is fair. Please, may we help you?” 

“Perhaps,” he said, bringing out an envelope and a photograph, “I am looking for Sisters Arianne and Danielle…” 

“Right this way, sir.” 

“Of course…” 

~*~ 

The Abbess looked to be a kindly matron; she welcomed him warmly, though spoke not a word in his tongue. The nun he’d been introduced to—Sister Theresia—acted as an interpreter, as much as she was able… 

Soon, a pair of pretty twin sisters joined them, bowing politely to him (as a guest) and to the Abbess (as a formality). For the lack of chairs, they hovered near the table, hands folded patiently under their habits; Sister Theresia introduced them, “Please, sir – these are our Christians sisters: Sister Arianne and Sister Danielle…” 

“Hello,” he greeted; they beamed back—simultaneously, faces mirrored, “Hello, sir…” 

“Please, you may call me Charles.” 

Mother Superior rattled a spiel, and they listened carefully to her words; she must’ve reiterated what he’d come to ask, and they gasped at its implications. The smaller one – Sister Arianne – turned sharply to him, “Is this truth? You have found our Evangeline?” 

He handed her a small album – they held it reverently, tearing at the uncertain image of their long lost _sister_. He explained, “We hope she is your sister – she is thirty-four this year, is mute, and is an exceptional musician.” They began to sob, whispering excitedly towards one another, “She is in America, with me; she teaches at my school…” 

Sister Danielle frowned, “America? She is not here, in Bordeaux? In France?” 

The other twin seemed the more congenial, kneeling by his chair, “Please, _mousier_ Charles, how may we contact her? If we should write—” 

At this, he sighed, “She doesn’t know about you; we found you through a friend…” 

“And Eva can hardly use a telephone…” 

In the background, Sister Theresia translated the entire conversation to the Abbess; a thought occurred to her, and she motioned to their only guest, “What if—what if the sisters returned with you? To America?” 

If Sister Theresia had been a fellow telepath, she would’ve _heard_ Charles grinning within. 

~*~ 

Sister Arianne was the elder twin, but with her smaller, more petite stature, she looked to be younger than her own. She was the first to reach out to strangers with an easy smile and gentle words; her mind was a hum of sweet thoughts, full of brightness and hope… 

Sister Danielle, by contrast, was a quieter, graver individual; willowy and tall, the familial genes were strikingly similar to the image he was used to. She was quicker to question, though, and could be heard brooding over her thoughts: _who sent him?_ and _how did he find us?_ and _why now, after twenty-five odd years?_

~*~ 

They twins kept mostly to themselves during the flight; Hank, when he came to fetch them, spoke politely to them (inwardly, Charles sighed – he’d never been more relieved that Hank was fluent in *eight* languages: six European and two Asian). They exchanged hearty stories (in French, though Charles could follow them utilizing Hank’s mind as a translator) of the Evangeline they knew – the sister, the teacher, the friend… 

But as they neared the mansion proper, the twins spoke nervously to one another – what if Evangeline didn’t want to see them? What if she was happier without them? What if she refused to come back—come home with them? It would explain her reasons for staying away, of never looking back—of never looking for _them_ … 

“Wait here, please…” their host suggested, seating them in his office as Hank disappeared in the direction of the music room, to fetch their sister for them; once alone, he projected _comfort_ to them, speaking aloud, “Do not fret – I’m sure Evangeline is as eager for this reunion as you are…” 

(he couldn’t be more wrong) 

The click-click of heels accompanying Hank’s easy laugh signaled their approach; the twins froze in their seats as the doors swung open to reveal _HER_ —their sister, the one who tucked them into their beds when they were small… their sister, the one who mimed stories and songs for them through the years… their sister, the one who shoved them down a trapdoor just before the German soldiers burst into their front room and took her and— 

She stared. 

Then her eyes dulled coolly. [Arianne.] she gestured, little ‘A’s whirling over her shoulders like curls, [Danielle.] a ‘D’ sliding down her right cheek. She turned to Charles and spoke to him, [How dare you.] 

And stormed out of the room. 

~*~ 

Charles wheeled himself after her, “Evangeline…!!” 

She hissed at him, [You said you would never look into my mind!!] 

Expression stony but patient, “I didn’t; Erik found them – Erik wrote to say perhaps you’d like to see them, or they you…” 

She fisted her shawl, [… Erik?] then an elegant snort, [Of course – _you are his wife_. Of course he would write to you.] 

He threw out a hand to catch her wrist; he should berate her on the point of Charles-is-Erik’s-wife-I-am-only-Erik’s-mistress, but it was an old argument, to be sorted again later. For now, “Evangeline, your sisters have missed you…” 

She struggled to keep her emotions in check, the wash of _I’ve miss them also…_ and _But so much has changed…_ and _Habits! Rosaries!! My sisters are nuns!!_

[How dare you, Charles.] she broke upon his lap, weeping into his knees; this was the one luxury she afforded to him – to be the comforter, to be his _sister_ too… He patted her hair and kissed her head, “Because we love you, pet… We do, we do…” 

~*~ 

They spoke and they cried and they knelt together in prayer—sisters reunited across fateful impossibilities… Nevertheless, they parted ways – her sisters returned to France, her nameplate yet set upon the Music Room wall… 

[I do not deserve them,] she slurred to the telepath – too drunk to sign, knowing he could hear, [They do not need me, moreover…] 

“Who needs you then, Evangeline?” her companion persuaded gently, pretending to fill her glass—but with water, not alcohol; she sighed miserably, [No one… not anymore…] 

Her thoughts turned dark, and so he eased a barrier within her mind, soothing instead, “Erik will need you – he will come for you, Evangeline…” 

[I am his mistress, Charles,] she replies sweetly, with eyes not-quite-seeing, [I do not hope for my men to return to me…] 

~*~ 

She’d made peace with her sisters, exchanging letters often – to wish them well and support their cause… She cut out a thousand butterflies and released them to the wind, _Arianne_ and _Danielle_ inked upon each back – a blessing for the safekeeping of distant loved-ones… 

She never told anyone this, but she released two more later in his name… 

~*~ 

She returned to her Music Room the next day and found a single yellow rose waiting upon the ivory of her piano, 

_I’m sorry…_

**Author's Note:**

> (I speak none of the foreign languages written here; all translations are from Google Translate -- and while i acknowledge that they may be erroneous, and therefore have taken them with skepticism, i simply like the edge or realism it lends to the story)
> 
> (I also apologise to those who insist Erik first language should be German; i understand it completely -- yes, he was born and raised in Germany...   
> ... but I'd also like to explore the idea that he may have moved to, grown up, and was therefore formally educated, in Poland before / during WWII -- it would explain how the movie began in Poland, 1941; thus, my rather flimsy excuse for Erik speaking Polish instead of German as his mother-tongue...  
> ... truth be told, I would think that perhaps Erik would see German as a foreign language, having lived under German rule, and having suffered / been oppressed under it...)
> 
> (the sign language Evangeline is using is Standard American Sign Language, lower case lettering -- I'm led to believe it uses only one hand, and it would serve as a good start for Erik's first lesson)
> 
> (31 may update :: minor errors edited, added missing paragraph)


End file.
